


What Are All These Kissings Worth?

by Rebecca



Category: In and Out (1997)
Genre: First Time, Light-Hearted, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecca/pseuds/Rebecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after the wedding debacle, Howard's life is mostly back to normal. Only his love live is lacking in, well, everything, and it doesn't look like that's going to change any time soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are All These Kissings Worth?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diana Williams (dkwilliams)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/gifts).



> See end notes for more detailed warnings.
> 
> Thank you, yasaman, for betaing! ♥

"Mr. Brackett?"

The words echoed in the empty halls of Greenleaf High, and Howard stopped in his tracks and turned. His eyes fell on Joshua, this year's most promising baseball player and worst English student, who hurried to catch up with him.

"Can I ask you a question?" the boy said as he stood in front of him.

"Sure, of course!"

Despite the encouragement however, Joshua dropped his gaze and fell silent. Howard had a sinking feeling what this was going to be about. It had been how long now? Three months? Three months, and some people still weren't over the fact that he was gay. He sighed and put his frustration aside. This kid didn't deserve to be snapped at.

"Is it about English class?" he asked, hoping against hope. After all, Joshua really _had_ reason to worry about English class.

Joshua shook his head. "I... uhm..." While he wasn't the most chatty of Howard's students, he usually didn't lack in self-confidence, so yeah, Howard was probably going to have _that_ conversation again.

"Is it something personal?" Howard prompted.

Joshua nodded.

"Do you want to step inside my classroom and sit down, or..." Howard trailed off, indicating the hallway. He had learned to be careful; not everyone felt comfortable being alone in a room with him anymore. But Joshua nodded once more and followed him back to his classroom without hesitation.

Howard pulled out two chairs for them, and they settled down.

"I am... I was wondering...," Joshua stammered.

Howard waited, nodding encouragingly.

"How did you know you were gay?" Joshua finally said.

Even if Howard had expected something in that direction, and even though he had mulled that same question in his head again and again, he still found it hard to formulate an answer.

"Lots of small things," he said eventually.

"Like Barbra Streisand?"

Howard shook his head in exasperation. Why was Barbra always the first thing people mentioned, as if being a fan of her was like joining some huge, world-wide gay club? She wasn't the Village People, for God's sake!

"Or being prissy?" Joshua continued.

"No!" Howard exclaimed. Then he sighed. "Look, Josh. Being gay has nothing to do with what music you like, or how you dress, or whether you like sports or beer, or how manly you are or aren't."

This was a lesson he had had to learn himself, and he still wasn't quite sure he'd gotten to the bottom of it. Especially since he himself _was_ both, well, a bit effeminate as you call it, _and_ gay. It had hurt when everyone was so ready to jump to conclusions just because of some perceived lack of masculinity. Even when he himself had been wrong and everyone else right, but that was just coincidence. They hadn't _really_ known. And this was usually the part where Howard's head started to hurt from thinking about it all. Shouldn't being out make things at least less complicated, even if it didn't make things easier?

"But how did you know, then?"

There was nothing more than honest interest in Joshua's question, so Howard tried to explain. "Hm. I never really thought about women. I mean ... fantasized about them, you know?" Howard felt heat rising to his face. As a teacher of teenagers, he'd had quite a few talks about sex in his life, but it would probably never stop being awkward.

Joshua nodded. "But you fantasized about men?"

"No!" Howard hastened to say, although at the same time he realized how ridiculous that was. He was gay, he was _supposed_ to fantasize about men. But still, he didn't want other people to think he'd fantasized about men. Or anyone, for that matter. Frankly, he preferred not to think of himself as a sexual being at all.

Joshua frowned. "But how..."

It was obvious he wasn't being helpful. "Well, there was this kiss...," he offered.

Joshua perked up, and Howard continued, "I never felt much when kissing women."

"But why did you get engaged to Miss Montgomery?"

"I guess I didn't really know what I _could_ feel. What I missed."

Joshua nodded. "Until you kissed a man?"

"Yeah, until I kissed a man. Suddenly..." Howard paused. " _When Heart, and Soul, and Sense, in concert move, and the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze, each kiss a heart-quake..._ " The quote was probably lost on Joshua, but he seemed to get the idea.

Howard smiled when he remembered, the memory still fresh despite how long it had been. He could barely stop his hand from touching his lips, retracing where _his_ lips had caressed him. "He felt good, right, so..."

"... masculine?" Joshua supplied.

Howard snapped out of his little reverie. Embarrassed, he was about to apologize, when Joshua's words re-echoed in his head. Joshua had sounded _knowing_.

Howard merely nodded.

"Muscular?" Joshua continued.

"Josh?"

Joshua grinned awkwardly. "It's been the same for me."

"Oh," Howard said unhelpfully.

"It's just, I wasn't sure because I'm so normal. Unlike you, you are..."

"Hey!" Howard protested, though he wasn't quite sure what he was protesting.

"Sorry! What I mean is, everything people say gays are like, I'm not!"

"Josh, the only thing that makes you gay is being attracted to men. No more, no less."

"Yeah, I get that now." Joshua was silent for a moment, then he grinned. "Maybe I should continue with the kissing. To make sure."

Maybe now would have been a good moment to remind Joshua not to neglect his classes, but somehow, he didn't have the heart. "Better safe then sorry, hm?" he just said.

Joshua got up, suddenly eager. "Yeah. And thank you, Mr. Brackett."

Howard watched him go.

That kiss. That great, horrifying, fateful kiss. It had changed his whole life, but at the same time, very little had changed. Now what? Sometimes he wondered what his Sleeping-Beauty-like awakening had been for. It just seemed wasted on him.

* * *

The assembly hall of Greenleaf High was filled with nervous energy, behind the stage as well as in front. Students scurried about, some in costume, some without, excited parents in between.

"Mr. Brackett, I'm dying of nerves!" cried Jennifer, the Beatrice of today's performance of _Much Ado About Nothing_.

"You're going to be great!" Howard assured her. She was one of his quieter students, but she had a knack for acting. All she needed was a little encouragement and acknowledgment from other people, and Howard was sure today was going to provide that.

"Look, my hands are shaking!" Jennifer said.

Howard took her hands and squeezed. "It's completely normal to be nervous. No one will notice, and after the first few minutes, you will be in the zone."

Jennifer nodded, not quite convinced yet, but determined.

There was a small commotion behind them. "Mr. Brackett, I'm losing my pants!" A roar of laughter followed, and Howard turned around. There stood Carlos in his costume, and his pants were indeed dangling comically below his hips.

"What happened?" Howard asked.

"I don't know!"

"He couldn't keep it in his pants," someone murmured, and there was another outburst of laughter. Usually, Howard didn't like his students to make crude jokes, but at least the laughter helped to ease their nerves.

He scanned his students. "Tracy?" he asked. "Go get a needle and thread from Mrs. Johnson. Carlos, don't move. I'll get to you in a minute."

There was a low wolf whistle. A few months ago, it would have been somewhere between mean-spirited and awkward. Even now, Howard stiffened a little, but the atmosphere remained giddy and excited. Still, he would probably never cease to be self-conscious about these things.

Howard left the students to themselves and threw a glance into the audience. The room was about half full now, some people still standing together in small groups, some already sitting in their seats. Next to the main entrance stood a guy with a camera, and next to him—Peter Malloy. It was almost déjà vu.

Howard blinked, once, twice, but Peter was still there, just as Howard remembered him. He was slouching against the wall, one hand in his pocket, one hand holding a microphone, obviously waiting for something to film. Howard straightened his shoulders and stormed into the hall.

" _You!_ " he said, putting all his indignation into that one syllable.

"Hi Howard!" Peter grinned, charming as ever, and already Howard could feel his anger soften.

Nonetheless, he tried to stay firm. "What are you doing here?"

"Filming, I thought that was obvious," Peter said.

"But why?"

Peter spread his arms. "Well, isn't today the annual performance of Greenleaf High's drama club?"

"I doubt many people outside of Greenleaf are going to be interested in that."

"Funny, my boss said the same."

"So?"

"Maybe I'm in a charitable mood. Your kids are going to love seeing themselves on tape. I could even interview them, wouldn't that be fun?"

Howard narrowed his eyes. He couldn't believe there wasn't going to be a catch. "What do you _really_ want?"

Peter was silent for a few seconds, then he said, "You."

Of course. Howard sighed. "What else do you want from me? You've had your story, and now my life is as boring as ever." When Peter raised his eyebrows, Howard added, "And I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much."

"When I said 'you', I didn't mean a story," Peter said quietly. Ruefully, almost, or was that Howard's wishful thinking?

Whatever Peter's motivation, Howard didn't have time right now to disassemble it. "Just ... be nice, okay?" he said, then he hurried back to his students to guide the last-minute preparations and to help the pantless Benedick.

* * *

The play was a success. The students elicited laughs in all the right places, and lots of "Aahs" and "Oohs" during the more solemn scenes. A few lines got mixed up a little, especially in the beginning when the ensemble was still nervous and self-conscious, but everyone managed to recover. When Beatrice and Benedick finally kissed, the audience cheered enthusiastically, and Jennifer and Carlos prolonged the kiss until the room quieted down. Howard thought they were very eager about it, and he wouldn't be surprised if they'd spend the rest of the evening together.

He was happy for them, but he couldn't help feeling a little envious. _Out of a world of laughter, suddenly I am sad... Day and night it haunts me, the kiss I never had._

Well, he _had_ had a kiss, but Howard felt it didn't really count since he had been busy trying _not_ to enjoy it at the time. It had been just enough to taunt him, and yes, to haunt him now. It didn't help that he was surrounded by teenagers all the time, teenagers who were testing their sexuality and somehow faring better than him. Maybe he had missed that crucial stage in life and was never going to catch up.

Now was not a time for melancholy, however: it was time to celebrate the success of his students' performance. There was a flurry of happy faces, heartfelt embraces, ecstatic cheers. At one point, he had Jennifer in his arms, who simply said "Thank you," before she was swept away by her friends. Someone had brought a bottle of champagne.

Peter did indeed interview the ensemble, and they enjoyed the unfamiliar limelight, giggling and laughing and pushing each other in front of the camera. Howard was still skeptical of Peter's motives, but when Peter stayed true to his word and focused on the play, never once trying to film or interview him, he relaxed.

After they'd had their fun, the students left, mingling with the crowd in the assembly hall, joining their friends and family. Peter's cameraman packed and was soon gone, and somehow Howard ended up in a quiet corner together with Peter. He had the suspicion that this had been Peter's plan all along, but he found he didn't mind. On the contrary, there was something about Peter that fascinated him, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.

For a while, they stood in comfortable silence, then Peter finally asked, "So, how are you?"

"I don't know," Howard answered honestly.

Peter looked at him from the side.

"Well, the job is back to normal, almost, which is great." He shrugged. "I suppose I'm still not quite used to being, err, single."

"No luck, hm?"

Howard shook his head. "It's not like we have this big gay scene in Greenleaf. In fact, I'm sure I'm the only gay person here at all." He sighed. "At least people are getting used to it."

"Aw, come on, it can't be that bad. I'm pretty sure those two boys I've seen necking in the men's room were more than just friends."

Howard smiled. "Josh and Rod. But they're _students_."

"What about me?" Peter grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Howard averted his eyes, unsure what to make of this sentence. "You don't live here," he mumbled.

"Would that stop you?"

"Stop me from what?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Peter leaned in and looked at Howard through his eyelashes. "I'm sure we can think of something. For a start, kissing in the men's room sounds like fun."

"Peter!" Howard said and felt himself blushing. He took half a step back, belatedly realizing how close they'd gotten. Realizing also how good Peter's proximity had felt, and how maybe he would have loved to... But then he remembered where they were and how inappropriate ... well, anything would be here. He looked around, reassuring himself that nobody had witnessed their last exchange.

Peter watched him, smiling knowingly, and Howard suspected that, once again, he might be able to see through Howard better than Howard himself. Damn the man.

What _was_ it that he wanted? Peter? Or was he just desperate enough that he'd throw himself at any available man he happened to come across?

Did it matter? Obviously, he found Peter attractive, and he was actually quite nice when he wasn't after a story. Why not just find out where this would lead? Suddenly, the decision seemed easy.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, they sounded foolish to his own ears. Of all things, he had come up with _a walk_?

But Peter didn't seem to mind. "Sure," he said.

* * *

The walk turned out not to be such a bad idea after all. It got them away from the school and the curious looks of Howard's students and colleagues, and the weather was perfect. The sun was still warm but not too hot, and the trees shone beautifully in yellows and browns. Dry leaves crunched beneath their shoes, filling the air with a wistful autumn smell.

It was the perfect day for getting poetical, one of these days where he loved to take his students outside for recitals or writing exercises, but with Peter at his side, poetry was really very far from his mind. He was more interested in getting to know Peter; he had the feeling that Peter knew everything there was to know about him, whereas he could only wonder who Peter really was beneath his rakish reporter persona. In the past, they'd never had much time to just idly chat—there had always been a camera, a microphone, or an identity-crisis in the way—but now, Howard was enjoying himself. Peter was easy to talk to, and he talked easily, but Howard noticed that, despite his wordiness, he never revealed all that much about himself.

"So, why are you here?" Howard finally asked.

Peter turned his head and looked at him, then he just shrugged. "I kept thinking about you, and I was curious how you'd do, I guess?"

It occurred to him that Peter, with all his confidence and eloquence, was not always so sure of himself as he'd like people to believe. Right now, he seemed a bit lost, world-weary maybe, almost as if expecting Howard to answer the question for him. As selfish as it was, it made Howard feel better about his own insecurities.

They walked a few minutes in silence, elbows touching every now and then, and Howard thought he could get used to the tall presence beside him. Would it be unwelcome if he moved in a little closer? Just when he'd decided to try, Peter placed a hand on the small of his back, lightly, promising. Waiting. Howard leaned into the touch, getting closer with every step until they were almost walking arm in arm.

Although his heart raced, their pace slowed down, and finally, they came to a halt.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Peter asked.

_Oh yes, please!_ were Howard's thoughts, but he restrained himself. "Since when do you ask?" he said instead. Once that would have come out bitter, now Howard was just glad that he didn't sound as needy as he felt.

Peter grinned sheepishly. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't run around kissing random people I meet on the street."

"Really?" Howard asked, noticing with surprise his own playful tone.

Peter took the hint.

The kiss tasted as good as Howard remembered. It tasted _better_ than Howard remembered, now that he was allowing himself to enjoy it. Peter was embracing him properly now, holding him steady while their lips met, and it was easy to lose himself in the strength of Peter's arms, the warmth of his mouth, the gentle caress of his breath on his skin. Part of Howard's brain noted the masculine smell of Peter's aftershave, the slight stubble on his cheeks and chin, the firm planes of his chest. Everything was exciting, new, desirable. The slick swirls of Peter's tongue sent shivers down his spine, every lick more intense than the last.

When Peter finally ended the kiss, Howard was left breathless but hungry for more. He followed Peter, hoping to continue where they had broken off.

"Maybe this isn't the place...," Peter said gently. He touched Howard's wrists, and Howard found that his hands had tangled themselves inside Peter's shirt, caressing the skin and hair of his chest.

"Oh!" Hastily, Howard tried to get his hands free, but he was stuck. A familiar sense of panic spread through his stomach, fear of what he'd done, and where, and who could have seen him. Could still see him in this situation.

"I got it," Peter said, calm and in control, and he opened the first few buttons of his shirt to unravel the mess Howard had made.

Relieved, Howard pulled his hands back.

But still, kissing Peter, touching him, leaning against him had felt so very good. It was only the sudden strength of his own desire that scared him a little.

"Wow," Peter said, shirt still half open and not caring about it. "We should do that more often."

"Err, yes. But I better, err, go home now."

* * *

Howard eyed himself critically in the mirror. Jeans, flannel shirt, a hat and a neckerchief—he hoped that would suffice for a cowboy costume. The last time he had worn the shirt and the pants was all those months ago for the masculinity tape.

Howard repeated some of the poses he'd learned back then. "Hot damn," he said to his reflection. Now that he felt comfortable in his own skin, he could see the the ridiculousness of the gesture, but in a way, it suited the costume. Maybe the tape had had its use after all. Just for the fun of it, he assumed the teapot pose with an overdone limp wrist and laughed at the juxtaposition.

The chime of the doorbell pulled him back into the present. _Peter._ His heart pounded in excitement and he flew down the stairs, skidded through the hall, and flung the door open. There stood Peter, leaning casually against the door-frame, grinning broadly, wearing...

"What are you wearing?" Howard said, scandalized.

Peter looked down at himself. "It's Halloween! I'm a cop!"

"Well, cops don't run around half naked, not even in LA!" Howard tried his best not to look at Peter's exposed chest. He wasn't quite sure why—after all, he was allowed to look now that they were dating, wasn't he?

"You sure?" Peter asked and waggled his eyebrows.

Howard ignored him. "You look ... gay."

"Well, I _am_ gay. I thought we'd established that a long time ago."

"I didn't mean to... What I wanted... You can't go out like that! What are people going to think?"

"Oh, don't worry. Your neighbor loves my costume, and she seems to have excellent taste."

"Mrs. Kingsley has seen you in this?" Howard groaned inwardly. Then he changed tracks. "Aren't you cold?"

"I've heard the Halloween parties in Greenleaf are wild! If not, I'm sure I'll find something to keep me warm."

Somehow every date with Peter turned into a production; he really shouldn't be surprised anymore. But if he was honest, that was part of why he loved him. The unpredictability, the courage to be himself, his easy-going manner. Where Howard had a tendency to over-think, Peter dived straight in, and sometimes, Howard was grateful for a gentle push.

He sighed. "Okay, let's go then."

Howard closed the door behind them, and when he turned around, he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, in his garden, stood his parents, giving their best American Gothic impression. His father even had a pitchfork.

"Hello Howard!" said his mother. "We thought we'd come and get you, but it looks like you've already got company."

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," Howard said dutifully, and an awkward pause followed. There was no need to introduce Peter, since his parents had met him before, and Howard was sure they already knew what was going on anyway. After all, Greenleaf's grapevine was well and thriving. Besides, what would he say? That Peter was his date? His boyfriend? His partner? None of these seemed to fit.

Thankfully, Peter cut in, shook his parents' hands and engaged them in a conversation about their lives as a newly remarried couple. With his friendly charm, even his outrageous costume didn't seem to matter much. Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered regardless, and Howard was, once again, overly careful and, well, prissy.

The little group started to move, and while they walked, his mother took his arm. "Peter really likes you, doesn't he?"

"Err..." was all that Howard could say, wondering where this was leading, or how his mother could be so _sure_.

"He seems like such a nice guy," she continued. "Your father and I are happy for you."

"Err, thanks."

His mother leaned in and whispered, "Don't they have gay marriage in Hollywood?"

" _Mom!_ "

Howard knew she meant well, mostly, but her wedding obsession was a little hard to bear at times, and if even Howard's wedding debacle hadn't stopped it, then what would? That right now she was wearing an austere colonial dress didn't make things much better; it made him feel like a little boy again.

Besides, as much as he liked Peter, and as much as he enjoyed their time together, Howard was under no illusions it would last. Sooner or later, Peter's vacation would come to an end and he'd go back to LA, and then what? Howard had decided not to worry about the future, but rather to seize the opportunity and make the best of it. _'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_ — he had taught Tennyson in so many of his English classes, but he had never really been able to get behind that particular line until now.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Tonight, he wanted to have fun. He looked back over his shoulder at Peter, who was walking next to his father, and for the first time this evening, he let himself admire Peter's outfit. Peter grinned back at him, happy and knowing, and when Howard's mother let go of his arm, Howard took Peter's hand instead.

* * *

Peter accompanied Howard back home, and Howard let him. It was obvious where this was leading, and Howard was a little nervous, but mostly pleasantly excited. He trusted Peter, and on a day where he could walk hand in hand with him and dance with him in front of half of Greenleaf without the world coming to an end, everything seemed possible.

"Do that thing again," Peter said as soon as they were through the door.

"Hot damn," Howard said and struck a pose.

They both burst out laughing.

"Dear God," Peter said between laughs, "I hope you burnt that tape."

"It's still around somewhere..."

"Promise me to never take that thing seriously again," Peter said, suddenly grave.

Howard swallowed. "I promise."

And once again, just like that, Howard found himself caught up in one of those impossible kisses. It was intense, wet, needy and so much more than he'd ever imagined a kiss to be. Peter licked his lips, the corner of his mouth—the texture of his tongue just rough enough to be tantalizing. Then there were teeth and Peter was sucking at his lower lip, and suddenly, just kissing wasn't enough anymore. Howard pressed himself against Peter, desperate for contact. Something was poking into his hip, and when he realized what it was, he startled a little. What on earth was he getting himself into? But then Peter moaned, low and hot against his lips, and it was the sexiest thing Howard had ever heard. He wanted Peter to make that sound again, so he shifted a little, wondering if he could just... Howard was rewarded with another moan, louder this time, and knowing it was him who had caused this was arousing and exhilarating, and very encouraging.

Somehow they must have lost their balance, since suddenly Peter was grabbing his waist and they were stumbling across the hallway.

"Maybe we should ... lie down?" Howard suggested.

"There's an idea," Peter said, amused and breathless, lips glistening.

Howard reached for Peter's hand and dragged him down the hallway and up the stairs.

"Has anyone ever told you that you got a nice ass?" Peter asked.

"No!" Howard exclaimed in horror. Thinking the sentence over, however, it occurred to him that it had been a compliment. He turned around on the landing. "You think?"

Peter gathered him in an embrace, hands sliding down until they cupped the cheeks of his butt. "Yeah," he said and started drawing small circles with his thumbs.

Howard sighed, letting his head fall on Peter's shoulder, savoring the feeling of Peter's warm, strong hands on his behind. It seemed that this was a body part he'd completely underestimated so far.

"Bedroom this way?" Peter asked, and Howard felt him nod his head, though he couldn't tell in which direction, didn't even care right now.

"Don't stop," he just mumbled against Peter's chest.

Peter laughed softly. "I won't."

Then he maneuvered them towards the bedroom, hands never losing their grip on Howard's ass. Howard held onto Peter's lapels, first for support, but then he let his fingers wander across Peter's chest, glad now for the boldness of Peter's costume. He combed through the fine, dark hair, marveling at the newness of the sensation. He was just about to gather the courage to dip his hands under Peter's shirt to explore more of his skin when the back of his legs touched the bed, and he fell over backwards.

Peter followed immediately, landing on top of him. Surprised, Howard gasped for air. Peter was pressed against him now, hot and urgent, shuffling a little until their legs and and hips aligned. They were both hard, and the contact was delicious even through the layers of clothes. Howard moved experimentally, bringing them closer still, searching for the best angle. His eyes fell shut and his world was reduced to his groin, to his hips, to the spot on his neck where Peter's damp breath was not quite tickling him. They found a rhythm soon, clumsy with need, perfect.

After a while which could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours—Howard had lost all sense of time—Peter started kissing his ear, down his neck, along his collarbone. Finally, he propped himself up to unbutton Howard's shirt. Howard was disappointed at first at the loss of contact, but when Peter bent down to continue his way across the newly exposed skin, Howard was more than mollified. The trace Peter's tongue left behind was cold, but at the same time arousing, a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth.

When Peter reached one of his nipples, he covered it with feather-light kisses, nothing more than a hint at first. Howard bit his lips in anticipation. Soon, the caresses got bolder, slicker, until Peter's tongue moved in sloppy patterns, eliciting a multitude of sensations with every swirl. Howard was sure that he wouldn't last long if Peter continued like this.

As if he'd read his mind, Peter gave his nipple on last lick before he continued his way southwards, dipping his tongue in his navel—another sensitive spot Howard hadn't known he possessed—until he was stopped by the waistband of Howard's pants.

"May I?" Peter asked, hands on the knuckle of his belt.

Howard nodded and lifted his hips to help. Then he thought it was unfair that Peter was still fully clothed while he was already half naked, and he started to fumble with Peter's buttons. They got entangled in a knot of sleeves and arms, laughed, stopped to share some more kisses. Suddenly, Peter was plucking at his jeans, careless and impatient, and although normally Howard would have protested the rough handling of his clothes, now he was thrilled. It felt good to be desired.

They finally managed to get naked, and Howard was eager to explore Peter's body, returning every caress Peter had bestowed on him. Before he could so much as lift his hand, however, Peter had grabbed him, rolled him around on his stomach and was now was pushing him down onto the mattress. And how could Howard protest when he felt Peter's tongue licking down his spine in lascivious patterns, when Peter cupped his ass with one hand, kneading gently?

Howard sighed into the sheets.

"You like that, hm?" Peter asked, a smile in his voice.

_Like_ was an understatement. It was great, it was _amazing_ , and why was it again that he'd never really thought about sex before?

Peter let his tongue trail down Howard's spine, his tailbone, and when he reached the crack of Howard's ass, Howard couldn't quite suppress a moan. Then there were kisses everywhere—on his left cheek, on his right cheek—gentle nibbles, and even a few bites here and there that made him shiver with unexpected lust.

When Peter nudged his legs apart, Howard followed his directions eagerly. He was willing to go along with whatever Peter had in mind, excited, nervous, but mostly just pretty much aroused. Peter grabbed his cheeks with both hands, spreading them, and that alone felt deliciously dirty, a dark promise. Then Peter's tongue was back, circling him down there, slick and hot and—oh! Of course Howard knew the theory, knew of the existence of nerve endings and their function as erogenous zones, but no theory could have prepared him for _this_! Jolts of pleasure were shooting through his body every time Peter's tongue entered his body. He felt stretched, filled, and yet he was longing for more. Desperately, he pushed himself towards Peter, wanting to get his tongue as deep inside him as possible.

He could get used to this, was the last he could think before there was no more room left for thoughts. He found out that if he moved just so, the mattress provided him with sweet friction, bringing him close to the edge. Only vaguely he noticed how Peter shifted a little, how he huffed hot breaths against his skin, how his grip on his ass got stronger. His orgasm took Howard by surprise, unexpectedly hard and fast and messy. For a moment, everything around him was muted while he succumbed to his passion; maybe he cried out with pleasure, he couldn't tell.

It took a while until Howard had caught his breath afterwards, until he was able to move again.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Peter asked, pulling himself up and plopping down next to him.

"Well, that was... quick. Are you... Do you..."

"All taken care of," Peter said, and he smiled sheepishly. "It's pretty hot when you moan my name like that, cowboy."

Howard blushed and, curious, couldn't help looking down. Yes, the evidence of Peter's words was there, white and glistening, dripping onto the sheets. He felt a small pang of disappointment. He would have loved to explore Peter's body, to return all the favors Peter had bestowed on him, to watch him in his lust, watch him come, _make_ him come. Maybe there would be more opportunities in the future.

But maybe there wouldn't.

"When do you go back?" he asked.

"Sunday morning."

Howard let his hand rest on Peter's chest, searching for the beat of his heart.

"I guess this is goodbye, then?"

"Why?"

"Well, tomorrow I'm on a hiking trip with my family, and I'll be home very late, and you'll probably want to go to bed early, and Sunday morning you'll be gone and..." Howard trailed off. He was rambling now, he knew it, but although he had promised himself to be content with what he'd had, it was still hard not to get emotional.

Peter covered his hand with his own. "You can come over as late as you like. And this is not just a holiday fling." With a look that was almost insecure, as much as anything Peter did could ever be insecure, he added, "Well, it doesn't have to be. We could visit whenever we've got a couple of free days, and maybe I can arrange to be in the vicinity more often."

That was a possibility Howard hadn't thought of. Or hadn't thought that Peter would want. Somehow he'd always assumed that he liked Peter more than Peter liked him; after all, what would a man like Peter see in him? But now it seemed that he'd misjudged the situation, and that was actually pretty great.

"That sounds good," he said and let Peter drag him into his arms. While he moved, he noticed how sticky he was. "We should have a shower."

"Mmh," Peter said. He stretched, reached for Howard's cowboy hat that had ended up sandwiched between the pillows and the headboard, and put it on Howard's head. "I'm sure real men shower only once a month, tops."

Howard shrugged. "I don't care."

"Well, me neither."

Luckily, as Howard found out, his shower was big enough for two.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Additional content info:_ Explicit sex, rimming
> 
> _End notes proper_ : The quotes used in this story are from Lord Byron, Sydney King Russell, and Alfred Lord Tennyson.


End file.
